


The Folks Back Home

by DixieDale



Series: Unexpected Encounters [6]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 03:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20557475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: What was the saying, 'you can't go home again'?  Maybe it wasn't so much that you COULDN'T, but rather whether it was wise to even try.  Well, at least, Craig Garrison decided, you shouldn't try without some strong support from your nearest and dearest, someone to help vanquish a few demons and unfriendly ghosts if they should decide to pop up.





	The Folks Back Home

He had been dreading this trip to clear up the family estate, but knew it was necessary. Since his mother's death, he'd left the house and grounds in the hands of a company that provided maintenance and oversight services, but that couldn't go on forever. It was simply money down the drain, and a house just shouldn't be left sitting empty long-term; things went wrong, as evidenced by the mounting reports and requests for permission to do extra tasks. Not to mention the possibility of attracting vagrants or mischief-makers; he could hardly expect the local police to keep an extra eye on the property forever. And the task of clearing out and readying the place for a possible sale wasn't something he was willing to leave in the hands of strangers.

His sister Lynn had offered to come back with him and help, but he could tell she dreaded the thought as well. Well, that had been obvious from her descriptions.

"Craig, I've seen the place more recently than you have, remember. The closet in Father's office is stacked with boxes of papers; I don't think he ever threw anything away. 

"The library isn't as much of a mess; you know he only permitted books he approved of in there, and there weren't all that many of those outside his own collection. You remember the lecture - the poets were too 'inflaming to the senses', Shakespeare too 'vulgar', modern literature 'of no value whatsoever'. Even the classics were considered somehow 'inappropriate'. It's still mostly military history, with some housekeeping books and cookbooks of mother's far off to the side when they won't contaminate the more 'worthy' volumes.

"When I volunteered to help go through his things, the last time I was home after the funeral, she acted like I had suggested dancing naked on his grave or something. Said it would be disrespectful, sacrilege almost! His office, the library, the other areas that were predominantly 'his' were strictly off limits, except for dusting and running the vac. It's like a memorial, you know??!

"Of course, she was just as bad in her own way; her sewing room had stacks of material, patterns, yarns and trims. I always found that odd; I mean, from the dust and everything, I don't think she's touched anything in there in years, and even when she DID, I don't ever remember her making anything for me, for you, even for the house. But she was always involved in some project or another, at least whenever there was something we wanted or needed her to do, whether for school or anything else. Her project was always more important. Remember how she used to say it, like it was in all capital letters. "I really cannot interrupt work on MY PROJECT for such a matter." 

"And don't get me started on the linen closet, or the pantry or anywhere else. Newer things in front, but older behind, then oldest behind that. Some of the sheets at the far back are so old and yellowed, they tear when you unfold them, but no, mustn't get rid of them. Never! You are going to need one of those dumpster things; there is just so much that is totally useless.

"Now, the furniture and dishes and silver is all the same as when we were growing up, at least when I saw it last, except for a new modern living room suite that is stiff and uncomfortable and ugly as it can be. It replaced the crushed velvet set. Remember, we weren't allowed to sit on any of that set, the chairs or the couch - it was only for guests. And as soon as the guests left, Mother would be dashing around with a bowl of warm water, a white cloth and that little brush, making sure the nap was standing back up straight!" 

Lynn giggled, "can you imagine Meghada doing something like that, wasting her time brushing out butt marks from the furniture?? Or telling any of us we couldn't sit down because we might leave a mark?" 

Lynn paused in thought. "Although the attic has some really nice small pieces from previous generations, unless she took a notion to get rid of it. She really did hate it all, or so it seemed, so she might have. And some of it was SO attractive! There's a marquetry writing desk I've longed for since I was ten, one from great-aunt Mable, but Mother always just said I'd ruin it if it was moved to my room. Oh, along with the fact that "I never approved of your great-aunt Mable in the first place; it would prove a very poor influence on you, I'm afraid", though just how she thought a writing desk could 'influence' me, I'm sure I don't know!"

He'd smiled, thinking that sounded like their mother, and that the living room suite sounded like it would probably fit just fine in the house he and Lynn had grown up in, at least the stiff and uncomfortable part. It could hardly be any more ugly and uncomfortable than that mustard colored velvet set - at least, he remembered it as being the ugliest thing he'd ever seen, and HE'D found the pieces uncomfortable since he was forced to stand whenever he was in the room!

"It's alright, you don't need to go with me. I'll have plenty of company; Goniff wants to tag along, supposedly to stop off in New York to see his mum and Aunt Moll, although how Virginia is 'right on the way' to New York I'm not sure . And he won't hear of him heading there on his own, leaving the house for me to tackle by myself. And Meghada will come up with SOME reason or other to join us, I'll bet. I'm not sure she trusts either of us not to get into some trouble on our own." 

He had to admit, if only to himself, that there was more than enough justification for the Dragon to have that attitude. He could just hear her now - "It's easier planning to go with you, Craig, and help, right from the beginning, than to stay behind and have to dash off at a moment's notice because of something untoward happening. It's not like Virginia is just around the corner!"

Lynn couldn't keep the relief from her face. "Well, if you have them with you, I expect you won't really need me. Goniff will keep you from getting overly depressed by that old mausoleum, and Meghada should be able to help with any organizing you need to do. He will be suitably irreverent, and she will be sufficiently ruthless to get you through."

"Cenotaph, not mausoleum," he'd corrected her with a wry smile. "A mausoleum is where someone is buried; a cenotaph is a monument to someone who's dead but buried elsewhere."

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Maybe, but I bet they both can be haunted. And that house? If any place could be haunted, it would be! I found myself shying away from shadows the whole time I was there. Don't be there after dark!"

He'd laughed at that. 

Now, he knew he shouldn't have, that Lynn was right. The damned place WAS haunted, or at least, as good as.

At first it hadn't seemed so bad. They'd arrived, after leaving their bags at the larger of the available hotels, since no way in hell was Garrison going to sleep in that place, even with his two loves along side him. 

Goniff had looked around appraisingly, then turned to Garrison. 

"Not exactly a warm and cheerful spot, now is it?" picking up on the chilly atmosphere right away.

"No, it's not," Craig said, taking in the well-maintained exterior, then the meticulously clean and tidy interior, wondering how it could be so offputting. "It never was." He could feel his spirits sink at the thought of the job ahead.

"Well, Craig. What do we need to do? Best get it done, whatever, at least get a good start while we still have sunshine. I agree with Lynn; I'd not want to be here after dark," Meghada offered crisply.

"Aint too 'appy bout being 'ere in the daylight, myself," Goniff muttered, Lynn having found a sympathetic ear in the pickpocket while she poured out her misgivings about the trip, though he hadn't been about to let Craig manage this himself.

"I'll take the office. Goniff, can you handle the library? Down that hall, to the left. Just stack the books spine up in the boxes McHendries should have delivered in there. I'll scan the titles later; whatever I decide to keep, we'll have the truck handle along with whatever else we decide to take when we're finished. Meghada, I hate to stick you with Mother's sewing room and the attics, but you'd have a better idea than I would. Goniff could come help you after he finishes in the library. We'll tackle the rest of the house together after that."

And they separated, each to their own task. Funny, in a way, how much they were dreading it. Goniff had always loved browsing through old houses, and Meghada did too, but here? This place just pulled all the joy out of the process, even as they discovered one treasure after the other.

Oh, not in the library, or the sewing room, certainly. Goniff had snorted at the dry assortment on the shelves in the library, and the total lack of any little trinkets that might catch his eye, and quickly stacked the books in the boxes, eager to be on to something more pleasant. 

The atmosphere in there was stifling, even with the windows opened to their widest. The slow movement of the heavy velvet drapes made him uneasy, especially since there was barely a breeze going outside. When he had to cross the room, he took the long way around, made sure not to get anywhere near them, and he kept having the feeling someone was staring at him in disapproval. When that heavy bookend came topping down for no reason whatsoever, almost connecting with his head, he was sure of it - someone or something was pissed at his being there. {"Ruddy thing was nowhere near the edge!"}

Meghada had wrinkled her nose at the stacks and bins and trays of fabric and notions and patterns, and mentally consigned them all to be donated to charity or something. 

"Perhaps the local high school has a sewing class that could use them?" 

How anyone had ever collected THAT many bolts of material or jars of buttons, she'd never know. Even her sister Coura, a very adept and busy seamstress, only had a small fraction of this amount in her sewing room. And Coura's stock rotated in and out; most of this looked like it had been there for years!

The attics were much more pleasant, if rather dust-filled and adorned with cobwebs. She found it worthy of a good disapproving shake of her head, all the pretty and well-made things up there, while the house proper was so grim. 

"As if it were a sin to have 'pretty' up too close!"

Goniff laughed from where he was lounging in the doorway. 

"Probably was, for them. Seems a w'ole ruddy lot they would 'ave considered a sin, or at least 'not proper'; mostly likely felt they were one and the same anyhow. Doubt we'd 'ave liked them overmuch, 'Gaida. W'at I've 'eard of them, from Craig and Lynn, know they wouldn't 'ave liked US overmuch neither. Think one of them tried to bash me in the 'ead in the library just now."

Meghada had shrugged, the liking by Outlanders never having been much of a goal with her. 

"Probably not, laddie, as far as the liking is concerned, though the bashing seems right in line with what they'd try. You will be careful, won't you? Call for help if things start looking dire."

He'd agreed, though hoping it wouldn't be necessary. In the meantime, he watched while she moved through the crowded space, waiting for his directions.

"Look, don't you think that must be the writing desk Lynn was mentioning? My, it is a lovely piece! That comes with us for certain; she'll relish having that, and it would fit beautifully on the near wall of her room. And there's several boxes of books in that corner; can you run though those and see if they are worth the taking? Both Lynn and Craig mentioned hiding out up here, reading things they knew their parents would have a fit if they knew they were reading. I'll sort through those two humpbacked chests; THEY are worth having all by themselves! Beautiful craftsmanship, and the wood has a lovely grain."

They browsed here and there, stopping only as the lure of the coffee pot overcame Meghada's curiosity, and by that time they had a nice list started of what would be leaving on that truck. There truly were some treasures up there.

"And keep your eyes open for photograph albums, any personal mementos, things Lynn and Craig might want."

"Will, acourse, but 'aven't seen anything like that yet, and I browsed through a few of the rooms before 'eading up 'ere."

In the meantime, down in the office, Craig had finished with the desk, gathering a mere handful of things to save, the rest in a huge pile to be burned. The desk set was elegant, but he left it in place. He had no desire to cart it off with him; he still remembered his father sitting there, hands clasped in front of him on that embossed leather desk pad, or tapping the end of that gold pen on the edge to make a point, all the while outlining his son's failings.

Now he was doggedly making his way through the accumulation of boxes that filled the closet. He'd opened the file cabinet earlier and groaned and slammed it shut. From the looks of it, it contained mostly receipts - thousands of receipts. That would have to wait for another day. 

"Maybe I'll have the whole thing thrown on the truck and sort it out later."

He was tempted to do the same with the boxes, at least get them away from here and in a more pleasant place to do the sorting, but that truck would only hold so much, and he had high hopes Meghada and Goniff were having success with the attics.

He was on Box 27 - yes, that's what it said on the top, nothing more in the way of a description. Lynn had been right; his father appeared to have saved every document, every piece of paper, no matter how important or unimportant it might have been. Tax records, insurance policies, receipts, his father's military records, marriage certificate for his parents. He had reserved Box 1 and 2, once emptied, to contain things that needed to be saved; Box 3 and 4 for things that he thought he might need to take a second look at before destroying. So far neither had much in them. Boxes 5 through 26 were now marked "BURN".

He'd stopped, shocked, when he'd opened the folder marked 'birth certificates and other miscellaneous legal records'. His, Lynn's, yes, no surprise there. But that there had been two others? That he had had a brother, born two years before him, one who had died of influenza at the age of sixteen months? And a sister, born four years before that? Her death was listed as 'defective heart, natural causes', no details. His parents had never mentioned there had been others, not to him, and he very much doubted to Lynn either. 

"I wonder if they're buried in the same area as Mother and Father had their plots. I'll have to check that out. I don't remember getting any bills for maintaining any graves except theirs." That troubled him, thinking of two tiny graves getting lost in the shuffle, perhaps becoming weedy and neglected. 

He sat those records gently into Box 2, and after adding the marriage certificate and a few other such items, grimly proceed through the rest, finding nothing else worth saving. Another box marked "BURN".

A cup of coffee would have been very welcome, but he hated to stop in the middle of the process to go get some, knowing it would be hard to get any momentum going again. Somehow, though, it wasn't all that surprising to hear a knock on the doorframe. He smiled as he looked up. He should have know by now that neither of his mother hens would let him down.

"'Gaida said you'd be about ready for this by now. I was, for sure; glad she thought of bringing the makings along. Blimey, w'at a pile! You doing alright, Craig?" Goniff asked, coming to the desk to hand over a steaming cup of coffee, taking a cautious sip from his own.

"Yes, I suppose so. A few surprises that I'll tell you both about later, but most just the way Lynn described it. Most will go to the burn barrel in the end, I'm sure. Let's give it another hour and then head back to the hotel. I've about had enough for the day, and I'm sure you two have as well."

Goniff stayed til they had finished their coffee, bringing each other up to date on their progress, then he'd headed off to let Meghada know the plan and do whatever else they could accomplish in that time. He arrived in the attic just in time to have a heavy pier glass come toppling over at him, a fiercely snarling Meghada hurrying to catch it before it made contact. 

He knew it wasn't him she was snarling at. For one, he hadn't done anything except walk through the doorway, AND she was facing into the corner.

"I've had about enough of your nonsense! Stop it before I really get annoyed!" and Goniff jumped out of the way as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Coo! Got a temper, whichever one that was, wouldn't you say?" he asked, helping Meghada get the pier glass in its heavy oak frame resettled against the wall.

"Maybe so, laddie, but so do I," she'd reminded him, to which he replied only with a grin and a snort of agreement. "Was going through that far chest when the lid comes crashing down. Nasty-minded sort! Lucky I'd thought to put two of those heavy books upright at the hinge side, AND that I was just reaching in, not leaning in! Anyway, I think I found Lynn's china and glass animal collection in there, along with some truly lovely lace and embroidery work, though I've not come across anything that might belong to Craig, at least not yet."

Back in the office, deep into Box 30, he caught a faint hint of pipe tobacco that swiftly became a strong, welcome and familiar presence. He was smiling even before he lifted his head to see the visitor sitting in the chair in front of the desk.

"Hello, Professor."

They'd chatted for a few minutes before Craig said something he'd had in mind to mention the next time the Professor visited. For someone who'd been dead for a goodly number of years, the Professor DID like to keep up with his favorite pupil.

"I don't know if I would have ever come to my senses, if you hadn't practically hit me upside the head. I can never thank you enough for that, by the way. Every time I turn around and take a good look at our life, that 'life worth living', I remember you and how you encouraged me to see things as they truly were. I've told them about you, Goniff and Meghada both. We even talked about naming our firstborn after you, you know, if we ever have such a thing. But as much as we all appreciate what you did, well . . ." 

The Professor choked on that last inhaling of his pipe as he laughed. "I'm sincerely glad you reconsidered, Craig! I shudder to think of another innocent child wending his way through this world with a name like mine!" 

"Yes, well, I knew you never liked 'Ignatius', and always wondered why you just didn't go by your middle name. I thought maybe it was James, or Jeffrey or Jeremiah or something like that. That is, til Actor looked it up in the records for me. And no matter how understanding Meghada can be, and no matter how odd some of the names in HER family are, I just didn't think she'd accept calling a kid 'Ignatius Januarius'."

"I certainly should hope not, or I would have had to revise my opinion of your Meghada as being a remarkably level-headed young woman! And I know Goniff is more than a little sensitive about being named 'Rodney', so I can't imagine HIM being in favor of the notion! I have no idea where my parents came up with that last bit; as if 'Ignatius' wasn't bad enough! I spent my younger days being called Iggie, my university days as 'IJ', which sounded too much like 'itchy' or 'hadji', depending on who was saying it, and frankly neither greatly appealed. I finally setted on Ignatius as the lesser of all other evils presented."

It was a pleasant interlude, all fifteen minutes of it, but when it was over, Craig hurried to make the best of the remaining time he'd allotted for the day. He REALLY wanted a shower, a meal and a drink!

He was going through the last of Box 31, thinking his parents TRULY must never have thrown anything away. "You'd think once an insurance policy has expired, it wouldn't be worth hanging on to," he'd pondered out loud, as he set yet another one aside. "The attendance rolls from when they each taught Sunday School, all umpteen years worth. And correspondence with the butcher about the inferior quality of the Saturday delivery back in June of 1922? Just how many years do you need to keep that??"

An indignant little sniff sent a cold chill up his spine, and he slowly lifted his head.

"Hello, mother, father. I wasn't expecting to see you." There was none of the warmth in his face or his voice that had been present when he'd first seen Professor Milford sitting across from him.

"Well! I'm sure I don't know why. This IS our house, after all. Of course, you might have forgotten that; perhaps that's why it's taken you this long to come back and deal with things the way you were expected to," his mother complained fretfully.

His father glowered. "I supposed it was too much to be expected, you doing the right thing, what any good man would have done. You hardly qualify for that, not that you ever really did. Even as a boy you were a disappointment! Just like your Uncle Jake! Throwing away a respectable military career! Taking up with all sorts of disreputable types, forming scandalous alliances! You've even outdone Jake in that regards, haven't you, young man! That woman! At least Jake married his trollop; you didn't even bother with the formalities, did you? As for that OTHER disgusting relationship you managed to get yourself involved in, the less said the better! It's a pity the army didn't find out about that; I imagine they would have put a stop to it soon enough. Sent that felon back to a prison cell where he couldn't corrupt another young man! Sent them all back, right where they belonged!"

"I don't intend to have that discussion with you, father. In fact, I don't intend to have any discussion with either of you. If you will excuse me, I need to finish this last set of papers." 

Garrison resolutely turned his attention back to those old insurance policies from thirty years ago, the Sunday School records and varied correspondence following suit, tossing them one by one into the newest 'BURN' box, perhaps with a little more force than was absolutely necessary. There was another box filled to the brim.

When he looked up again, they were gone. Funny, he hadn't thought it would be that easy. 

As he was leaving the library, the door slammed as he went through, almost catching his hand, leaving him with a thoughtful look on his face.

Dinner, a drink, a mapping out of what their agenda should be in order to get this grim task over with as soon as possible, a few necessary phone calls, and they were ready to call it a day. They were tired enough they fell asleep quickly, but not before a few wistful thoughts about that big bed waiting for them back at The Cottage. Three adjoining rooms just didn't quite do the trick, and while they knew they were too weary for anything other than sharing warmth, they DID miss the opportunity for that.

The meeting the next morning was equally unpleasant, though at least the face was different. They'd barely driven into the parking space and gotten out of the car when they were greeted by Andrea Martin Farris, the mayor's daughter. Craig and Andrea had despised each other since grade school, and from the look on her face, her opinion of him hadn't changed. Well, neither had his of her, come to think of it.

Andrea, formerly town queen due to her father's positon, had seemingly retained the position, now being the wife of the local bank president, James Farris. She gave him a cool greeting, extending only the tiniest of stiff disapproving nods to Goniff and Meghada, and proceeded to let him know that she might consider buying the Garrison house if it was to be put up for sale. 

"Certainly at a steeply discounted price, considering how you've let it be neglected. It will obviously take a great deal of money and effort to get it back into a livable condition. Shocking, really. We were expecting you to come back and take care of things long before this, certainly. I can't imagine what your parents would have said, Craig. They could always be counted on to handle things properly. They always had such a strong sense of community responsibility." 

The haughty look on her face was exactly the same one she'd worn when the two had first met, way back in second grade, and it had the same effect on him now as it had then. Back then he'd refrained from following his first impulse due to the stern family admonishment against hitting girls and knocking them into mud puddles; now, well, it was more knowing any move on his part would just set off his two companions, and he would prefer to avoid that if possible. With no mud puddles being available, who KNOWS what they might decide appropriate instead!

Meghada, upon hearing Andrea's comments, had slowly turned, took an appraising look at the crisp coat of white paint on the house, glossy black shutters forming a perfectly aligned framework to the sparkling windows, brass door knocker shining, the neatly mowed lawn and well-shorn shrubs, total absence of any trash or refuse, knowing just how everything was on the inside, and raised her brows in a very regal manner. 

"Yes, I must say, Craig, totally disgraceful. Why, you'd think you hadn't been paying a goodly sum each month to have the place properly maintained until you could come back to handle things personally. Really, my dear, so remiss of you, letting a little thing like a World War and your military obligations interfere!" giving Andrea an amused little moue of a smirk.

The woman had stiffened, gave an indignant huff, and turned to head back to her car.

It probably hadn't helped improve the woman's mood when Goniff hadn't waited til she was out of earshot to proclaim, "coo, now there's a nasty one if I ever saw, Craig. Can see why you weren't so eager to cuddle up to 'er. Likely end up with icicles 'anging off your dangly parts, you know? And that WOULD 'ave been a shame!"

Garrison felt himself lucky that Goniff's next comment was so sotto voce as to be inaudible to anyone but Meghada and him. "And I like your dangly parts just as they are, you know, without icicles," the comment being accompanied by a sly grin and a brisk wiggling of the Englishman's eyebrows.

Meghada had just chuckled, but THAT sound was loud enough to make the already stiff-with-indignation Andrea hasten her steps.

The library done and boxed, the attics sorted with lists made of what was to go with them, the sewing room consigned to whoever might make use of the piles of materials, they'd started on the rest of the house. Nothing of particular note, and nothing of a personal nature, came to light.

They were all tired, eager for showers and dinner, even knowing they had hours of work still waiting for them, going through the lists and notes and the four boxes they were taking from Craig's time in the library. They'd decided to continue the process back at the hotel; anything to maybe cut a day or two off this trip and head to New York, or maybe even back to Brandonshire. 

Goniff had admitted, with a shrug, "never actually mentioned we'd be in the States to Mum and Aunt Moll, so they're not expecting us. Though it WOULD be a shame to come this far and not at least pop in for a little visit."

Craig and Meghada had exchanged a glance, hearing the slight wistfulness in that comment.

"Very much a shame, and I see no reason why we should forego a stop in New York. You can spend some time with your mum and Aunt Moll; Craig can talk with our New York contacts; and I've been wanting to meet the new editorial staff at my publishing company."

"And I was counting on it, Goniff, that little visit" Craig lied with a wonderfully sincere look on his face. "You don't want to disappoint either of us, do you?" smiling at the wide eager smile that came to Goniff's face.

The small dining room had stilled of conversation when they'd entered, though slowly resuming when the trio did nothing of great note or interest, except for ordering a drink before their meal, ("at the table, if you can believe it, not in the bar, Claudia! Hard liquor! Even the woman!!") and the Englishman ordering a second dessert ("and after he'd already polished off a perfectly HUGE meal, Mildred!")

Well, nothing of interest other than the three seemed to be in remarkable good accord with each other. Garrison took note that one of the waiters was paying particular attention, several times edging close enough to overheard their conversation, and groaned inside, getting a questioning look from his companions.

"Over there, the dark-haired man in the waiter's uniform. That's Larry Martin, Andrea Farris's brother. I expect she told him to keep an eye on us, hoping to turn up something to give her leverage about the house. He used to do the same in high school, sneak around, finding dirt for her to use. Let's TRY not to give him anything, okay?" giving Goniff and Meghada a stern look. 

Somehow that coy tilt of a blond head, the lowering of long eyelashes over wide, innocent blue eyes, was NOT what he was hoping for, but was really pretty much what he was expecting. Along with the fervent assurances of discretion from both, assurances he responded to with a slightly skeptical look.

"Well, of course, Craig. Nothing to put you to the blush, of course."

"Ei, that's right; w'atever you say. Proper and sober as a deacon's underdrawers, that's us!"

The gasps and clatter of silverware dropping from the table behind them punctuated that promise. Well, it really WAS a very conservative town.

It was about 10:30 when a stern-faced pair of men entered Garrison's room, no knock, just the turn of the hotel passkey and a brisk pushing open of the door. Without a pause the taller of the two started with a harsh "heard the three of you were in here in this one room! That's against . . ."

Only to come to an abrubt stop, seeing Craig Garrison, tired and obviously annoyed, going through a file at the small desk in the corner. Meghada was on the loveseat, sorting through a list she'd made earlier, earnestly making notes of what was still left to be done. Goniff was sitting back on his heels, stretching his back from his efforts rummaging through a box on the floor, making a list of the contents. 

"You heard WHAT, Chief Tompkins??!" Garrison snapped into the bewildered face of the local police chief, a man he'd know since he was a teenager.

Yes, he'd been right. Andrea, via her brother, intended to make trouble. 

"That we're staying up all hours trying to make some sense of the mess my parents left things in? I wasn't aware that was against hotel policy, or was any cause for invading our privacy," sparing a glare for the red-faced hotel proprietor. 

A few apologies later, the two men escaped, the proprietor heading out to collar that hapless Larry Martin for spreading tales about respectible guests and trying to cause trouble. 

The young man had only been taken on because he was the former mayor's son, and the brother-in-law of the bank president, but even that wasn't enough to keep him employed, not if he intended to cause trouble with the paying customers. Three rooms for at least a week's stay, maybe more, possibly with various meals and drinks taken in the dining room - well, that wasn't anything to sneeze away! The manager was well aware that this was not the only hotel in town, and only hoped his abject apologies had been sufficient to prevent the trio from checking out at first light.

The police chief decided to go back to bed, nurse his cold, and try and forget the whole episode, at least for the night. Bad enough being dragged out at that hour with that lurid complaint from the Farris's, but going back to the bank president and his wife with an explanation would have to wait til morning. If he knew them, they'd be on the phone to him first thing anyway, wanting to know just what he'd done about such 'impropriety within our city limits!' 

Well, thankfully, while Craig Garrison had been understandably annoyed, he hadn't flown off the handle. His two friends had seemed more amused than anything else, the odd little Englishman even offering a wry "coo, mate, too ruddy tired for such goings-on even if I was of a mind - think I lugged a 'undred boxes around today!" while the young woman had looked at the two men, sighed and spoke to them soft and gentle-like, like they were small children being rude or naughty. 

"Gentlemen, don't you have anything better to do? If not, perhaps we can sit you down with a box of your own and have you do some sorting for us so we could get done faster. Maybe then we'd all be able to finally get some sleep. - In our own rooms. - To either side of this one. - Alone." {"Just as we rather reluctantly had told ourselves would be necessary before we even left home! And this intrusion only proves the wisdom of that."}

Yes, the two intruders both felt about ten years old at that quiet reproof and those sternly maternal eyes. 

The following day brought more interesting things to light. Well, things and absence of things. Goniff had found Craig standing in the hallway looking into a bedroom - just standing and staring, lost in thought.

"Craig?"

"This used to be my room," with no other explanation of the odd expression on his face.

Goniff took a quick look, as did Meghada, who'd just joined them after starting the first pot of coffee - probably the first of many pots.

"Don't look much like you. Expected model airplanes and the rest you talked about." Well, what could he say? The room was totally empty, except for the brown wallpaper and overhead light fixture.

"Lynn's old room still has furniture, anyway, but not anything I remember. Guess Mother redecorated," walking quietly to the other side of the hall and two doors down, opening the door. 

"None of this was here then," taking in the heavy department store bedroom suite and dark gold bedspread and furnishings. 

"Lynn dislikes yellow, you know. Her room was pink and white; she didn't much care for those either. Wanted green, but Mother wouldn't allow it - said it wasn't feminine enough. But Lynn was a good sport; always said "at least it isn't yellow!" The furniture was all white - bed, dresser, dressing table - at least it had been, back then. Now, it was heavy dark wood of some sort. 

"I wonder what happened to the other things. Maybe the attic? When I left for college, I boxed up the models, my books and things like that, most of them anyway and put them up there. Lynn left her things here, thinking she'd be back for at least a little while, though that didn't happen. 

"Five bedrooms; you think they could have at least left HER stuff alone. It would have been fine for overnight guests as it was. And if they left my old room vacant, they must not have NEEDED the space very badly."

Meghada shook her head, "as far as the attic is concerned, I didn't see any furniture up there except for smaller pieces. I think that writing desk is the largest I saw. Maybe the boxes and trunks will turn up the rest." 

Frankly, she didn't have much hope for that, but she wasn't going to drag him down in the dumps this early in the day. To her mind, these two rooms, along with the rest of the house, looked like the senior Garrisons had erased any sign of ever having had two children living here at all. 

She'd seen no mementos, none of the trophies Craig had won, no photographs of them growing up, though she'd been watching for those in particular. After all, Goniff had teased Craig on the flight over about "anxious to see w'at you looked like as a tyke, Craig. Cute as the dickens, I expect."

She wondered if the local schools kept copies of school photographs, or knew the name of who the photographer would most likely have been. She WOULD like to locate some of those pictures. At least there should be high school yearbooks, if nothing for the lower grades.

Goniff and Craig had handled the basement together, finding nothing much of interest except for heavy wrought iron lawn furniture moved in for its seasonal storage and never moved out again, then headed to the garage and tool shed; Meghada had taken the kitchen, pantry, and just started to make inroads in the living room when the men returned.

"Nothing to take with us, though at least it looks like Father didn't keep everything through the years out there, not like in the office, at least. What about you, Meghada?"

"Other than having the French doors into the living room slam in my face twice, and that without a trace of breeze, not much. All show, no substance, pretty much like what else I've seen down here. I get the feeling they called up the local department store and ordered 'one living room, one dining room, two bedrooms, etc. No, it doesn't matter as long as it's respectable and neutral and uncomfortable and won't stand out', and so on."

"Damned near caught a chill, myself, with that gutter letting loose right over me. And that rake 'andle nearly caught me a good one. Woulda been walking funny for a few days, it 'ad better aim," Goniff complained.

Meghada reached out, carefully wiping away the remnants of water, leaves and spider webs, getting a grateful smile in return.

Craig nodded. He'd had a few little episodes himself, none pleasant, that had no logical explanation other than as an expression of parental displeasure.

Frankly, they were all a little depressed by the time the afternoon waned and they left with another load of boxes to be sorted through. A stop at the liquor store seemed in order, and the bottle of quite decent bourbon had provided the inspiration for an increasingly-hilarious stream of suggestions to Craig's frustrated quandry of what to do with a house he never wanted to see again. 

Well, hilarious after both Craig and Meghada had given a firm thumbs down to Goniff's first idea of calling Casino for a little assistance. 

"Wouldn't take much, wouldn't think. Not my lay, acourse, but bet Casino knows someone who likes to play with matches, if you know w'at I mean. On that big lot, no other 'ouses on the block, no one would get 'urt."

Well, he hadn't really expected them to go for the idea, so had just shrugged and waited for his next brilliant idea to pop out. He was sure it would; it most always did, sooner or later. Meanwhile he joined Meghada in listening to Craig vent.

"I don't want it, that's for damned sure. Lynn got almost hysterical at the notion of HER ever going back, so I know SHE doesn't want it. We can put it up for sale, and I expect we'd have any number of decent offers, but the idea of letting Andrea find a way to underbid and still get the place - maybe a word to the inspectors, or rodent control, or whatever - that just annoys the hell out of me. But I don't want us to go on paying for upkeep forever, and that's only going to increase. You know how an empty house deteriorates, no matter how much effort is put in."

They had all sat around, thinking, had another drink, thought some more.

Goniff snorted, thinking about the delimma. "Expect your folks would like that, though, like you keeping the place as a monument to them, you and Lynn 'aving to keep shelling out, year after year."

"Well, they would probably like the idea of Andrea and her bank president husband as owners too, Goniff. Sound a lot alike to my way of thinking."

Craig gave a frustrated hurrumph of agreement. "Yes, they'd like both of those things." Somehow that thought annoyed him even further, as evidenced by the unhappy look on his face. Goniff didn't much like that look, and proceeded to see what he could do to erase it.

"So, alright, if that's what your ruddy parents would LIKE, w'at WOULDN'T they much like?" Goniff asked with a mischievous grin on his face. "In fact, w'at would ruddy well drive them up the wall, even thinking on??" 

Yes, he'd KNOWN a brilliant idea was just waiting to pop out!

That got a puzzled frown, and Goniff asked impatiently, "Think, Craig! W'at would be the most annoying thing you could do with the bloody place? You say you and Lynn don't want it, though I imagine you or 'er coming back, moving in would likely piss them off well enough. Not worth the misery to both of you, though. So w'at ELSE would get their drawers in a right twist?" he'd questioned, taking another sip from his glass.

"A home for wayward girls?" Meghada suggested, nibbling at the salted nuts she'd poured into a bowl.

Goniff snickered, giving them a sly grin, "naw, maybe a 'ome for wayward boys - a 'alfway 'ouse, maybe, for blokes like me and the guys; that would be more the ticket! Ei, maybe both??! Seems a match up made in 'eaven! Casino would think so, anyway!"

Craig reluctantly grinned at their suggestions. "Yes, that would be annoying to them, though I'm pretty sure the authorities would have something to say about that dual purpose."

Still, he found it an intriguing thought - what could be done with the house and the contents that would annoy his parents the most? He remembered a short newspaper article he'd read recently, and a grin worthy of each of his cons finally settled on his face. 

"You know, I think I have an idea. I'll make a few calls tomorrow."

The word passed through the small Virginia town like grass through a goose. 

"And you'll never believe!" came the first incredulous chattering of the news.

"Everything??!" someone gasped, waiting for confirmation before dashing off to spread the word.

"Everything!! Attic to cellar! And not even asking a penny for it, not for anything!! Just come, starting at eight in the morning, ready to take away whatever you want! Says they want the place empty by sundown, and anything left will be carted to the dump!"

The street was crowded, the sidewalks full of people, gaping, waiting their turn to get into the big Garrison house. Well, some waiting to get in. Some watching to see what their neighbors had seen fit to take possession of. Some were inside milling around, filling their arms, their baskets, even their children's Red Ryder wagons. Vehicles were lining up along the street to haul away the heavier pieces, once people stopped squabbling over who got what. Furniture, clothes, pictures, dishes, everything was up for grabs.

The local seamstress was almost in tears at the sight of the shelves of material and notions and such her two assistants were cramming into boxes; her profit margin just quadrupled for the next year, at least. 

The principal of the high school quickly ordered hastily-commandeered teenaged boys in the collection of every box of books gathered in the library, making sure to gather up that fine desk set from the office for his own personal use. 

The car shed, the garden shed, basement, every space had been opened up to the residents of the town, though any who made the climb to the attics were mostly disappointed, that area having been pretty well cleaned out.

Garrison watched all the activity with amusement from his post at the corner of the living room. Reverend Matthews, his parents' minister, had come to stand beside him, concerned, wanting to be sure this was really what the younger Garrison wanted. 

"Craig, I must admit I don't understand. You could get a tidy sum from a house sell-off, but you're giving it all away. You're keeping nothing?"

"Oh, I've already taken what I wanted," he'd replied with a smile, thinking of the treasures from the past generations that had been left in the attic, all of those now on an outbound truck. All the papers to be burnt had been entrusted to a disposal company with access to an incinerator, Goniff firmly taking a stand against them guarding the burn barrel for the next two weeks getting the job done themselves. 

"Likely ruin my complexion, you know."

"But what would your parents say?" the Right Reverend Matthews fretted. "Did you think about that?"

He never would understand that smile, any more than the chuckle from Craig Garrison's odd English friend, or the totally serene smile from the young woman who had accompanied them.

"Every minute since the idea came to me, Reverend, I promise you," Garrison had answered politely.

"And the house? Surely the rumors about the house are wrong! It's a very fine place, well built, in excellent condition, with a considerable amount of land attached. It would fetch an excellent price. I understand several have made quite nice offers. Including the banker and his wife; I'm sure you remember them from your days here."

"Yes, I remember them; I went to school with his wife, ever since second grade. And I looked at the various offers, thought it over, and yes, thought a great deal about what my parents would think, what they would say about each of them, and made my decision. 

"The new owner might not be offering the best price, but I find a combination museum and exhibit hall an intriguing idea. Like the Odditorium in Chicago at the World's Fair in '33, you know. Yes, I can see the sign now," motioning with his hands, "Ripley's Believe It Or Not! Come See The Impossible, View The Oddities, Experience The Unexpected - Encounter What You Never Thought You Would Ever - well, you get the picture. Oh, it'll take them some time to get things organized, moved in, get open for business, but I imagine it will be something to see."

Meghada broke in, "and there really is a great deal of land, plenty of room for parking. And that space to the rear would be perfect for a small amusement park, and perhaps a picnic area to the far side. The town is on the new highway, and the tourist draw could add quite a bit to the town's coffers. Just think! All the happy families wandering through, enjoying their day. Children here, there, everywhere, laughing, chattering away, shrieking at the rides. Perhaps booths here and there selling food and drink. Doesn't it sound lovely??!"

Reverend Matthews could only look at the younger Garrison in absolute horror. He had been acquainted with the elder Garrisons for many years, after all.

"Your parents would be appalled, Craig! Totally, absolutely horrified at the very idea!!"

"Yeah," the cocky Englishman said with a cheeky grin, having walked over to join the conversation, neatly avoiding those French doors that tried to catch him betwixt and between. "Wouldn't they just! Aint it just ruddy beautiful??!"

And Matthews knew the younger Garrison had somehow lost his reason, as he watched the two men join in amused laughter, soon joined by the redhaired woman. The French doors crashed together, even though there was no one within ten feet of them, this time the impact shattering the glass to a complex spiderweb design within the frames.

Goniff lifted one arm and draped it companionably around the minister, much to that man's discomfort. That didn't ease when the Englishman said, in a confiding sort of a voice, "ei, Reverend, seeing as 'ow you're in the business and all - know any good exorcists?"

In the total silence that met that question, Craig Garrison shook his head in amusement at his companion, and cheerfully announced, "I'm hungry, you two. Let's go get lunch."

And they left, Matthews staring after them. He wondered if the man had been serious. He wondered if Garrison had any idea what he was doing. He wondered just what connection those two had with young Garrison. But most of all, he wondered if that desk set was still up for grabs in the library.


End file.
